


A Case of You

by StormyNightStories



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Dissociation, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Greg House Being an Asshole, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader with a nickname, Reader-Insert, Snarky Reader, Strong Female Characters, struggling with addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyNightStories/pseuds/StormyNightStories
Summary: "Oh you are in my blood like holy wineYou taste so bitterAnd so sweet ohI could drink a case of you darlingStill I'd be on my feetI would still be on my feet."A Case of You - Joni Mitchellor,Love is not a cure-all.





	1. Chapter 1

The sun rose as it always did, and you watched it rise. The world would come alive, and you imagined people preparing for the day. You were already awake and ready because you didn’t sleep and you rarely do. Coffee, concealer and a cheerful smile would find you looking natural. Well-rested.

Sharp.

Sharp.

You had to stay sharp. Your career depended on it. You checked your briefcase. Notebook, stethoscope, name badge, Excedrin, anxiety medication, all inside in their proper places for when you need them. You wished you could reach inside and find your courage, but you could only pretend it was there.

First day jitters were standard, you thought. Your first real job, working for such a big name in diagnostic medicine.

Jitters are normal, jitters are normal.

You repeated the mantra until it felt real, but it never really goes away does it? The jitters.

Anxiety. It loomed over you like a dark storm cloud, shocking you with tiny ribbons of lightning. Lack of sleep wasn’t helping.

If anxiety was a storm cloud, insomnia was the morning fog after the storm, obscuring your thoughts under a light blanket. Coffee was your morning sun that cut through it.

It was a delicate balance to fabricate the mask of normalcy, but you had it down to a science. Therapist every other week, emergency anxiety medication just in case, and good ol’ coping skills.

You pulled up to Princeton Plainsboro Hospital thirty minutes before you were to begin your shift, just in case. Perpetually early, you never know what could happen. Traffic, weather, accidents, speeding tickets, acts of God. Preparedness was the enemy to anxiety.

You sat in your car and fiddled nervously with your steering wheel, tapping it with your fingers, grounding yourself. You prepared for so long for this moment, and you were not going to let the fucked up parts of your brain ruin it for you. Then you noticed.

You forgot your lab coat.

“Fuck!” You shouted into the void and banged your head against the steering wheel in frustration. Your head rose with a sigh, and you glanced out of your window. Another doctor stared blankly back at you before walking over.

Great, you’ve made a fool of yourself and concerned some poor doctor just trying to go to work.

He was a well-dressed, handsome black man, with intense large eyes and a half smile of concern pulling at his lips. “Hey uh, you okay?” His voice muffled against your closed door.

You laughed nervously getting out of your car with your briefcase. “I forgot my lab coat. My first day here, and no lab coat. Seems like a bad omen somehow.”

“Oh is that all?” He laughed. “You’ll be fine, but don’t make it too much of a habit. What department are you in?” You began to walk together, his company a calming presence. “Oh and I’m Dr. Foreman. It’s good to meet you.”

“Diagnostic medicine and I’m Dr. (YLN).” You smiled, liking how saying that rolled off your tongue. The small pang of pride made you stand up a little more straight and walk with a bit more surety.

He looked shocked but ultimately excited. “Fantastic, that’s my department as well! House didn’t mention a new doctor joining us.”

“Oh.” Panic. A slew of strange conclusions ran through your head. Were you at the right hospital? Did you actually get the job? Don’t be silly. You searched your mind and found your rational explanations after thinking of worst case scenarios. “Well, I got an offer letter that I accepted from a Dr. Lisa Cuddy, I’m supposed to meet with her for a tour of the hospital before joining you today.”

He looked at you with concern again, as if you had just shouted obscenities into the void. “So you haven’t met Dr. House?”

“No.” You blinked a few times and stopped in your tracks. “Is… that bad?”

Dr. Foreman looked off to the side with a shrug and a sigh, like this was just normalcy. “I’ll be honest with you; House isn’t for everyone. He’s an asshole. Plain and simple. It’s strange that he didn’t interview you or even speak with you before today. I don’t know what’s going on, but be on your toes.”

You swallowed a lump. “Got it.” Your gait was less confident now, but you pretended the best that you could as you drank on your morning latte, lipstick staining the rim of the cup.

“I’ll take you to see Cuddy. Good thing you’re early, she likes that.” He smiled and led you to her wide open and warm office. There was a comfortable quality to it, the seating, the large, wooden desk. It reminded you of a library more than the office of a Dean of Medicine. She sat behind it, a beautiful woman in her late 30s, early 40s perhaps, with dark curly hair, piercing eyes, and a dress that revealed an ample chest. She had an air of confidence and strength that you immediately envied. It fit her perfectly, considering all you’ve heard of her.

“Ah, Dr. (YLN), it’s good to see you again! Please come in. Thank you, Dr. Foreman, for accompanying her here.”

“Anytime, but Dr. Cuddy, our team wasn’t made aware of any new hires joining us. Care to explain that?” Foreman raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Dr. Cuddy cleared her throat. “Perhaps later.” She said, folding her hands over one another and shot him a knowing glance.

Foreman nodded. “Okay then. If you’ll excuse me.” He stepped out of the double doors and shut them behind him.

Dr. Cuddy motioned for you to sit down, and you obliged. She smiled, hands still folded. “We’re excited to have you. I just wanted to meet with you before you start today. I want to make sure you’re prepared for what’s ahead for you.”

Your back stiffened and you took a silent, steady breath. You placed your latte down on the desk in front of you. You smiled and chuckled nervously. “Seems a bit foreboding, but I appreciate you preparing me.”

She sighed with a smile, and you swore you saw a hint of pity there. “You’re a capable doctor, I’ve seen your transcript, top of your class at Johns Hopkins, and Doctor Rathbone highly praised you. His letter of recommendation for you was practically glowing.” You couldn’t help but smile. He was a fantastic doctor to work beside. An excellent teacher as well as a friend. “I wanted to let you know that Dr. House is nothing like him. He’s stubborn, rude, and frankly an ass. I asked him to do interviews for an additional spot in his department, but he refused. So I did him the courtesy of hiring for him. Hence why you’re here.”

You blinked a few times, looked down at your clenched hands and up at Cuddy. “He has no idea I’m here, does he?”

“No, and he has no say in the matter. You’re here because you deserve to be. You’re the right candidate for the job. Despite the kind of person he is, House is an incredible doctor, and you could learn a lot from him. You’ve developed your skills at John Hopkins, and I believe you could build your strength and resilience as a doctor working here.” She stood up and started to pace. “I won’t deny the struggle you’ll have at first. He’s adverse to change and doesn’t play well with others. But he’ll get over it.” She turned to you with another glowing smile. “I hope I’ve not scared you off.”

You rushed your answer. “No, not at all! I’m excited to begin.” You hoped your voice didn’t reveal your anxiety.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He arrives, and who would have guessed he's not thrilled to see you?

Dr. Cuddy walked you to a large conference room where the doctor you saw earlier, Foreman, another woman with long brown hair tied into a ponytail, and a blonde haired man sat around a table. None of whom concerned you. He hadn’t arrived yet. Cuddy introduced you to the ones that were here.

“This is your new team member, Dr. (YLN).” You waved shyly with a smile. Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps entered the room and then froze.

“What’s going on?” A gruff voice loomed behind you, and you and Cuddy both turned around. You met with fierce blue eyes, five o’ clock shadow at 8 in the morning, and confused and annoyed expression that became snarky soon after. “She your girlfriend?” He asked you, pointing his thumb at Cuddy. You went to speak but couldn’t find words. He walked over to a stand-up whiteboard, both hands clasped over the handle of his cane. He feigned sentimentality and wiped a non-existent tear from his eye. “See I always knew. Cuddy, I want you to know we all support you no matter what.”

Cuddy cleared her throat and stood up straight. “This is your new hire.”

“I take back what I said; I don’t support you.” He remarked with defiance as he sat down in a chair. “I didn’t hire anyone, so there's an egregious error here.”

“Exactly, you didn’t hire anyone so I took the liberty.”

“I didn’t hire anyone because we don’t need anyone else.”

“You’re taking on new and stranger cases every week; you could use another doctor.”

“We’re functioning just fine as we are, and you are out of line going over my head on this.” He feigned hurt, clutching his chest. “In fact, I’m feeling betrayed. You have her to spy on me don’t you?” He stood up dramatically and pointed at you. "She’s a plant!” Was this guy your boss now? What a trip.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. “This is Dr—”

“Benedict.” He interrupted.

“Excuse me?” You chimed in, finding your words.

“You’re a product of Cuddy’s betrayal. She’s Britain, your Benedict Arnold.” He motioned around himself. “And we’re America.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Cuddy took a deep breath. “House. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me change my mind on this. Deal. And play nice. For once in your life.”

She looked at you with intensity. “If you need anything let me know.”

Cuddy walked out, and House called after her. “Put a baby monitor down here why don’t you!”

She shot up a middle finger at him as she walked away.

Panic was welling up inside you. You stood up straight and placed your hands firmly on the table. You imagined the anxiety rushing below and away from you like a hose with the straightening of your spine. Confidence. House met your eyes; you continued to make contact, refusing to be the one to break the look. No weakness.

He smiled. It was a winning smile. Your stomach dropped.

“So. 32-year-old female, loss of control of her left hand.” He stood up, limping over to his whiteboard and writing symptoms. “Confusion, anxiety, and muscle spasms. Go.”

“Sounds like a potential stroke. We should MRI to confirm.” The other woman piped up and tucked a hair behind her ear. The blonde man to her left nodded.

“Well get to it then.” He waved all of you off. You stood up, grasping your suitcase. “Except you, follow me. We need to talk.” He motioned at you, and you followed. “We’ll go to my office.”

He led you down a grey corridor as your stomach seemed to do backflips. Fewer and fewer doors were visible, and you began to see fewer and fewer people on either side of the hallway. Down a set of stairs you both went, with him limping along.

“Ah here we are!” He snagged a key and unlocked a door marked “utility,” and you raised an eyebrow. He opened it and stepped inside, motioning for you to enter as well before shutting the door. “So, Benedict.” Your lips tightened, but your eyes remained focused. “Why did Cuddy hire you?”

That boiling, anxious ball of lava in your stomach glowed, but you remained vigilant. “I graduated top of my class at John Hopkins, worked under Dr. Jordan Rathbone in their Diagnostics department. Cuddy felt I would be a good fit for your team.”

“Rathbone is a second-rate doctor at best, that’s not a good enough reason to hire you.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, Doctor.” Your voice was flat and lacking in emotion. Separate yourself from your emotions; he won’t see you crack. “Considering your behavior, I would feel it’s safe to assume you don’t want me here.”

Both your eyes were fixed on one another. “I don’t know what to make of you yet, Benedict.” He twirled his keys on his finger. “I’ll leave you in here until I decide.”

“What?”

“Yep.” He smiled, whipped around, and closed the door. You scampered up to it and tried to twist the handle. It was too late. You were locked in the utility closet. Alone.

It felt like an elephant sat on your chest. You slammed your hand against the door. “Let me out!” You slammed your palm against it again in quick succession. Again. Again. Again. Shouting. The elephant had placed his full weight on you.

You fiddled into your pocket and tried to find your phone. You pulled it out frantically.

No reception. You were in the basement, after all.

You sank to the floor and looked around you. The room felt smaller than before. Your breath quickened, you pushed yourself against the wall. The elephant and the buzz of fluorescent lighting were the only things that kept you company. Your breath shook, and hands trembled as you dug into your briefcase. You found your anxiety medication.

The walls weren’t closing in. It’s all in your head.

You struggled to unscrew the top.

You glanced at the side.

"(Your Name)

Clonazepam 1 MG

Take 1-2 AS NEEDED per day."

You did as the medication instructed and took two. Only two. That’s all you needed, right? You dry swallowed them, and it sizzled against your throat.

You breathed. In five beats out three. In five beats out three. You repeated it, but it didn’t seem to help. You rocked yourself, head on your knees.

It felt like all your mental and emotional strength were sapped. You were scared.

But why? Why were you frightened of being alone in here?

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

_Morticians._

_Your parents made the dead beautiful again. Even the most grotesque corpses could turn into art. They looked asleep. Peaceful. You were always curious about your parent’s work._

_You walked toward the mortuary, your feet barely ghosting the wooden stairs. Always the curious one, who could blame you? Six-year-olds didn’t understand the gravity of death, and you were no exception._

_The door creaked open, and you peered inside. The outline of a body was laid on a silver table, illuminated by the moon through the small window._

_You flicked on the blinding light. Your arms wrapped around yourself, anxious at the prospect of seeing the dead before they were made beautiful by your mother’s handiwork. A crisp white sheet covered them._

_Your bare feet tapped lightly on the cold tile floor as you approached the body..._

You pulled yourself out of that nightmare. Breathe. Breathe. Your body continued to shake and went cold. You were frigid, as the mortuary floor, just like the silver table.

Stop. You rocked yourself some more. You finally felt your medication kick in. It didn’t feel like enough. The elephant still sat on your chest and stomach. You debated taking more. More wouldn’t hurt. Dull it, dull that ache and those memories. No, you couldn’t. These medications shouldn’t be taken more than prescribed, right? Don’t fall back into old habits.

Disconnect, don’t feel, breathe. Don’t give those memories power. You stared at a single grey brick in the wall.

You were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something like an apology.

The voice was small and barely perceptible in your current state.

 

“Benedict.” 

 

Silence. You continued to stare at a single brick in the wall opposite you.

 

Your actual name rang out more clearly. Dr. Cuddy’s mildly raspy voice faded into your ear. You smelled her perfume; her wavy brown hair tickled your cheek.

 

You heard it again. Dr. House’s deep, baritone voice. Was there panic there?

 

A hand jostled your shoulder. It seemed to pull you out of your trance. Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“God House you’re such an ass.” You heard Cuddy’s chastising voice as she stood and your head turned and looked up at her. “You think locking up doctors is a humorous little game? You think this is funny?”

 

“Well, I did until…” House’s voice trailed off as you stood up and walked out of the utility closet without paying either of them mind.

 

Cuddy continued to follow after you and caught up. “Are there any updates on our patient?” You asked without looking at her.

 

“Are you okay? You seemed--”

 

“I’m fine.” You were not okay, but you were alive, and you weren’t about to give the impression of anything but being okay going forward. You attempted a smile. “Needless to say I won’t be following Dr. House down any hallways anytime soon.” 

 

Dr. Cuddy offered you a sad smile. “The MRI didn’t show any signs of a stroke. Her symptoms are getting worse. The patient claims her hand is moving on its own and she has to grab it to stop it.”

 

You grinned. “Alien hand syndrome. Fascinating.” You sped off toward House’s diagnostics office, the doctors from earlier were sitting around discussing the symptoms. 

 

You walked in and sat down without explanation. You glanced up at the clock. You were in the closet for two hours. “I assume the patient hasn’t had a traumatic brain injury, or we would have heard about it upon admission.”

 

The three doctors in front of you looked at you with a mix of confusion and concern. 

 

The blonde haired doctor spoke first. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Dr. Chase.” He stood up and put his hand out to shake yours. You obliged. 

 

“Apparently I’m Dr. Benedict.” You attempted to cut the tension with humor. The three doctors chuckled. 

 

“I’m Dr. Cameron.” The brunette bombshell of a doctor gave you a kind wave and a smile. You nodded and returned the smile. “Where were you? Are you doing okay?”

 

“Uh, I was—“

 

“Indisposed.” House had finally caught up and walked in and up to the board. 

 

“Meningitis.” You chimed in, trying to get back to the task at hand. “I would recommend a lumbar puncture to confirm.” 

 

“The patient has a temperature of 102.6. The MRI showed high signal intensity in the caudate nucleus. Get the lumbar puncture. We’ll see what it tells us.”

 

“I’ll let the patient know. I’ve not had a chance to speak with her yet and I’d like the opportunity.”

 

“Jesus, don’t tell me we have another sentimental Cameron-type on our hands.”

 

You let the words settle, and your words flowed out like venom. “Contrary to your processes, I’m in the business of treating  _ people _ , Doctor.” You left the room before he had a chance to respond. 

 

You went to her room. There was no one visiting her. You watched her left hand jerk, and the right one grabbed it. She grimaced angrily at it, her nails digging in slowly. 

 

You stepped in cautiously, closing the door behind you. 

 

“Who are you?” Her grip loosened on the rebellious hand but her eyes remained intense, feral. 

 

“I’m Dr. (YLN), I’m part of the team that’s treating you.”

 

“What team?”

 

You furrowed your brows. “You don’t remember the doctors who were with you for your MRI?”

 

There was a long pregnant pause, punctuated by the beeps of her heart rate monitor. “MRI?” She seemed to calm, her body relaxing as if asking in a dream. 

 

You jotted down notes.  _ Memory loss. _

 

“Miss Jacoby, do you know where you are?”

 

She didn’t respond at first and then her head jerked, and she looked around herself, taking in her setting. Tears welled up in her eyes. “A-a hospital right?” Her left hand jerked again, and this time she shouted at it grabbing at it with her other hand. “No! No! You stop that this instant!” She grabbed the hand so hard you were concerned it would bruise.

 

She stared off into space, her grip loosening, before looking at you again. “You’re quite beautiful.” She tilted her head as her hand trembled, a small, peaceful half-smile pulling at her lips. “What’s your name?”

 

~~~

 

You walked back into the glass-walled diagnostics room, and then froze when you realized that House was the only one here. 

 

You stepped into the room, wringing your hands behind your back. You cleared your throat, and House turned to you. “Memory loss. Her mental capabilities are only decreasing. It seems to be early onset dementia.” Your voice rang with a hint of sadness. “She’s deteriorating quickly. At speeds such as this, I would suspect Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.”

 

“It fits the criteria, but can only be completely confirmed by brain biopsy.”

 

“Or differential diagnosis,” you retorted. “Miss Jacoby doesn’t have the signs of meningitis; she’s experiencing Myoclonic jerks, not stiffness. There was no traumatic brain injury reported. If you test the lumbar, I’m confident it’ll show the protein. If so... there’s nothing to be done.”

 

“My, my.” He turned to you. “Maybe you aren’t completely useless.”

 

You tilted your chin up as he approached you, meeting his eye. There was darkness there. Sadness maybe. Regret? All of it hidden behind blue.

 

He couldn’t quite meet your eye anymore. “About… earlier.” He looked down. “It wasn’t fair of me, and you had an adverse reaction.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lied.

 

“You dissociated.” He said meeting your eye again. “I might not have been thrilled that you were joining us, but that wasn’t the reaction I was going for.”

 

You gave him a challenging glance. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but your little prank simply bored me. I’m fine.”

 

He saw through your lie. He nodded. 

 

Everybody lies.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

_ Small feet tapped on linoleum tile. The smell of chemicals and powdered makeup. There was another scent there, one that you couldn’t recognize as a little girl.  _

 

_ It was death. _

 

_ You got closer and closer to the human outlined beneath the sheet. You pushed a chair to the edge of the table and climbed on top of it to see who lay there.  _

 

_ You took a deep breath and reached out to the edge of the sheet and began to pull it off the figure.  _

 

_ The sheet was entirely off, but there was not a body there. _

 

_ Bloodless, icy fingers grasped your shoulder, and you turned around. It was your patient, and she was missing her left hand, it looked as though it had been sliced off. She was pale and nearly blue, cuts going across her scalp, and the flaps of skin revealing her cracked skull and brain, with a slice removed. You felt like she was watching you, judging you with unseeing and closed eyes. She didn’t move, only standing in place before slowly tipping toward you like a freshly chopped tree. You couldn't run. _

 

_Her body crushed yours beneath the dead weight._

 

You awoke with a gasp and a choked scream. You glanced at your clock, 1:02 AM. You had been asleep a total of one hour, and you likely would not sleep more. You grasped your head in your hands and sobbed with all your might. You were home; you were safe, your bed nor your cat would judge you. All you wanted was a peaceful sleep. 

 

These fucked up nightmares were becoming too much to handle. You reached your hand to your side table, your medication readily available for your use. 

 

You considered taking them. You contemplated taking 3 or 4 and feel that twist in your chest fade away. You imagined that sweet tingle in your fingers and toes and the feeling of just not giving a fuck. You stared at the orange bottle as if it could provide you answers, and then sighed and sat it back in its place without a pill taken. You wiped away the fresh, salty tears from your cheeks. 

 

You sniffled and pulled yourself out of bed, your cat lay at the end of the bed, curled up in a ball. You gave him a few pets before going to the mirror in your bathroom. You looked at your own eyes. The grey and purple that lay beneath them, no doubt from lack of meaningful sleep. They were puffy from your momentary lapse in collected behavior. You splashed water onto your skin, wishing for a new start.

 

You heard a knock at your door, surprising you out of your self-reflection.

 

You wiped at your face, confused, but you wanted to make sure whoever your after-midnight caller wasn’t going to see you cry. 

 

You wrapped a robe around your body as it was only covered by a camisole and a pair of underwear. The knock at your door continued. You peeked out the peephole. 

 

It was Dr. House. Your eyes went wide, and a small gasp escaped your lips 

 

You didn’t open the door, but he continued to hit it with his cane. 

 

You cleared your throat and called through the door. “Can I help you?”

 

He replied. “I heard you from next door. Is it common for you to scream in your sleep?” He’s your neighbor, how long has he known about that? 

 

“Sorry to wake you, but you can leave now. I promise not to wake you for the rest of the night.”

 

There was silence on the other side a while longer. You heard House's voice once more, “Do you have a hard time sleeping too?”

 

Pause. “I just had a nightmare, House.”

 

“I can relate.”

 

Both of you were quiet for a while, you unlocked your door, allowing just a crack in the door and a chain locking the space in between you. 

 

“What do you want?” You asked, impatiently. His eyes fixed on you through the gap in the door. 

 

“A drink? The company? It is a Friday night. It’s a shame for a twenty-something to be all alone, isn’t it?”

 

“At one in the morning, I expect all the twenty-somethings to be asleep. Or fucking.”

 

“Well, we could be doing one of those things.”

 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re a pig.”

 

“A pig that you’re entertaining the presence of.”

 

You threw caution to the wind and unhinged your door and opened it. House limped in and looked around your apartment. It was simply decorated in blue and beige, an agreeable color combination. You had a wall of bookshelves ranging from medical textbooks to high fantasy and wall art depicting peaceful landscapes. 

 

Your arms crossed defensively. “Don’t you have like, sleep to be getting?”

 

“Don’t you?” 

 

You sighed. “I don’t sleep much.”

 

“Well, neither do I.” He plopped down on your couch, kicking one foot on your coffee table. “So how about that drink?”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Let me know what you think. I started watching House MD again for the first time since I was younger so OF COURSE I had to write some fic. 
> 
> Follow me here, if you want. Or don't, I'm not your mom. 
> 
> Tumblr: http://stormy-night-stories.tumblr.com


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